By The Pale Moonlight
by IntoTheWilds
Summary: MPREG WARNING! Spencer Reid's life was dedicated to the FBI, his friends were his family and he was content until the night he met Fenrir Greyback and his world was thrown into chaos.


_**AUTHOR'S NOTE: **Okay fact is, I'm not interested in continuing this. I'm so sorry, but my muse has shriveled up and died, so I'm discontinuing this. Maybe I'll come back to it, but I doubt it._

_Sorry!_

_IntoTheWilds_

_xxx_

* * *

_"Life is nothing without a little chaos to make it interesting." __  
**― **_**_Amelia Atwater-Rhodes_**

* * *

The night was cold, lonely shadows caressing every surface they could touch casting blotchy images of black and making the outside seem eerie. A single figure ventured through the dreary streets, hoping to beat the rain as he hurried home. Concentrating solely on conserving body heat, cursing his stupidity for not wearing a warmer coat to work, SSA Dr Spencer Reid had no idea he was being followed, or stalked as the case may be.

The Dark Lord had sent Fenrir to America for one purpose, recruitment and nothing else. He was to seek out American witches and Wizards unhappy with their lot and bring them overseas for the war and he was to keep his teeth to himself. Fenrir was happy to obey his master but that was until he had seen the most delectable morsel his eyes had ever rested upon. Fenrir was no stranger to the soft flesh of a body, but it had been a very long time since he had desired anyone especially a male. He wasn't picky about sex, either suited his needs and right now he was hungry for the human with gold eyes and sable tresses.

Stopping just outside his apartment complex, Spencer rummaged for his keys and had just wrapped his fingers about them when a shadow stole over him. Before Spencer could even react, a thickly muscled arm wrapped about his waist, pinning him to a warm solid body and a pair of jagged teeth pressed against his throat.

"Easy pup, I do not intend to hurt you." His voice was gravelly, firm and accented by Britain. A subtle move of his hand and Spencer knew his gun was gone from its holster and with one move and the FBI agent knew there wasn't a snowball's chance in hell that he was getting free from his attacker.

"What do you want?" Spencer asked, his tone a lot calmer then he felt.

To his horror a tongue was ran over his exposed collarbone and throat and his captor spoke in a breathy whisper, "you pup, I want you."

* * *

**_Three Years Later:_**

SSA Dr Spencer Reid had never believed in magic. Not real magic anyway. He liked to do tricks, enjoyed sleight of hand and illusion, but genuine magic did not exist in Spencer's world till the night he was unfortunate enough to meet Fenrir Greyback. He could still feel the hot breath of him on his skin; he remembered teeth, pain, blood and then darkness. When he had come to they were in a cabin, surrounded by furs and a warm fire. He was naked and Fenrir had been curled into him, nuzzling his throat, leaving sweet kisses as if they were old lovers.

It was on the next full moon Spencer learnt exactly what Fenrir was as well as being a Wizard, and it was then Fenrir had decided to claim him fully as his mate and take away his humanity. Spencer could've left at any time, Fenrir hadn't exactly chained him down, but with his _affliction_, he was better off staying with the wolf. Or at least that was what Spencer kept telling himself, it was better that then admit he might actually be falling in love with him.

He also learnt that werewolves had a very different anatomy; in the sense males could carry a child, something he was learning firsthand.

In the pack Spencer was the werewolf's recognised mate, no wolf, wizard or even witch were stupid enough to harm him and in his own twisted way, Fenrir loved him, he never hurt him and he went out of his way to protect him to the point Spencer was sure he was fully immersed in _Stockholm Syndrome_. He knew he was in trouble and in serious need of a shrink the second Fenrir could touch him, or speak to him without making the FBI agent flinch.

It wasn't something Spencer was happy about, he wanted to fight it, wanted to deny the fact that he felt safe around him, that Fenrir was his eternal mate. Running a finger lazily along the scar upon his wrist, Spencer sat in the middle of the Forest of Dean. He was tired and sore after the full moon the night before. Fenrir had kept him back at the cabin, and had stayed with him after the change had taken over them both. Neither left, which surprised the rest of the pack, but it didn't surprise Spencer. No, it was a natural instinct for a wolf to protect his pregnant mate, and the same applied for werewolves.

"Spencer?" Spencer looked up at the sound of Fenrir calling him. "There you are pup!" Fenrir said cheerfully dropping down next to his mate.

Spencer smiled tiredly, "Must you insist on calling me pup? It's an odd term of endearment especially now with your actual pup currently wriggling inside me."

Fenrir's blue eyes practically lit up, "The pup's moving? Can I feel?"

Spencer moved his hands allowing Fenrir to replace them with his own and that scarred face was momentarily transformed by wonder. Fenrir moved and kissed Spencer so sweetly that it was almost easy to forget sometimes that he was a ruthless killer.

"The Dark Lord is calling for me, come on."

"I, w-what, you've never brought me before."

Fenrir smiled, "No, but you were never days away from birthing my pup before."

Reluctantly the genius nodded and followed his mate, burrowing in close to his bigger body when Fenrir wrapped an arm about him and pulled him in close. He was terrified and Fenrir could smell it off him because in three years Fenrir had never brought him to meet the Dark Lord neither had the Dark Lord come to see them. But it would all be okay. Voldemort had no reason to hurt him...right?

* * *

§

* * *

Spencer was sat by the fire warming his fingers. His long brunette curls fell to one side shielding his face from the Dark Lord who was curiously watching him. Fenrir had softened Voldemort realised, and it was because of this pregnant werewolf, though personally the Wizard could not see the appeal. He was handsome, lithely built if scrawny—except for his swollen middle—his hair fell to mid back, thick and soft looking and he knew he had hazel eyes from the brief look he had given him. He had also _been_ a muggle, and that did not sit with him very well.

"Ah, good Bellatrix," the Dark Lord called when the witch returned dragging a struggling teenage girl, "good evening Vasilisa, I trust you slept well?"

As usual she didn't answer and Voldemort didn't appear to mind. "Come here Spencer."

Fenrir went suddenly rigid from where he stood across the room and after a second his mate got to his feet and obediently he made his way toward the beckoning Wizard. Vasilisa didn't recognise the man, but she did notice his swollen belly, and the aura about him that meant werewolf...Why would Voldemort have a pregnant werewolf? Hand snatching out, Spencer gasped when a palm rested against the bulge of his belly.

"Now Vasilisa, with an incentive, would you try answering me?"

"My Lord," Fenrir called distressed.

"Quiet Fenrir," Voldemort snapped his red eyes slipping toward Bellatrix who with a gleeful smile pulled out her wand.

A strangled whimper escaped Fenrir shocking the blonde teenager. What was wrong with the wolf, he looked terrified, since when did he care what Voldemort did?!

"I suggest you hold him Crabbe, Goyle," Voldemort stated calmly as he stood away from a suddenly panicked Spencer, "Bellatrix if you please."

"_Crucio,"_ The witch cackled and the werewolf hit the floor screaming.

"Spencer!" Fenrir surged forward wand forgotten and enraged, but Crabbe and Goyle were quick and between the two of them they subdued the older wolf.

Gesturing for Bellatrix to stop, Voldemort hissed angrily, "Where are they Vasilisa?"

"I don't know," the teenager croaked heart in her throat terrified he'd hurt the boy again, "They disowned me; I don't know where they are!"

"Bellatrix...?"

"_Crucio," _Spencer arched shrieking as the burning acidic pain carved its way through-out him once more and after what felt like an eternity Voldemort signalled for Bellatrix to stop.

"I am growing impatient girl," the Dark Lord hissed angrily, "where are they?"

By now Vasilisa was crying, her blue eyes awash with guilt and she tore fiercely at her binds, wanting nothing more than to throw herself between that vile bitch and the barely conscious boy.

"I swear I don't know. You can check my mind; give me _Veritaserum_ if you have to, but I'm telling you I don't know!"

Bellatrix raised her wand once more, eyes sparkling maliciously, but Voldemort raised a hand cutting her off. The Witch pouted childishly but obediently pocketed her wand.

"Go get the Veritaserum in my stores Bellatrix."

"Yes Milord."

Spencer was in agony, but by a miracle the baby was still moving. He supposed the curse only affected him and not his baby, at least he hoped that was the case. Vision fussy, Spencer was briefly aware of voices. The girl, she was crying, pleading with Voldemort still.

"Spencer, Spencer can you hear me?"

"Fenrir, I did not grant you permission to approach him!"

"With all due respect my Lord, but this is my mate and my pup and I will not obey you in this!"

Vasilisa was stunned by the werewolves' admission. No wonder Fenrir had gone crazy during the torture, Crabbe and Goyle had just barely held him. Voldemort looked fit to kill; red eyes watching as Fenrir gently scooped up the barely conscious boy and stared at the Dark Lord with a rage he had never once directed on him. It was in that moment Voldemort realised he may have lost the support of Fenrir's pack. Before he could reprimand his subordinate an explosion suddenly shook the mansion to its very foundations. They were under attack, somehow the Order of the Phoenix had not only found them but had found a way past their wards and just like that it was anarchy.

Spencer clutched in his arms, Fenrir decided on fleeing rather than fighting. His mate had passed out and he was terrified for him and the pup. He spun around and to his horror came face to face with Remus Lupin, his wand firmly placed before his heart.

"Let the boy go Fenrir!"

Remus stood his ground, eyes narrowed, his wand poised before the werewolf. All around different levels of battle surged. Spells flew, a spectrum of lights dancing off any surface they struck, destroying it on impact. Vases shattered, plaster cracked and at some point in the past five seconds a fire had been started, the bright orange already devouring tapestries as it quickly spread. Frantic Fenrir jerked forward and deposited Spencer into Remus' arms. Remus grunted, shifting his weight to better hold the boy and looked up in shock when Fenrir spoke in the softest tone he had ever heard pass the werewolf's lips.

"Remus please, you have to protect him, keep him safe and do not let Voldemort have him."

"F-Fenrir—"

"Promise me!" His icy blue eyes were lit up with a shocking energy and he had a death grip on Remus' bicep, "If there was ever any goodness in my heart then he is it, promise me you will do all in your power to keep him safe."

To take a term from Ronald Weasley, _bloody hell!_ Remus was momentarily at a loss for words and when it was obvious they were pressed for time, he gave a jerky nod. An actual relieved smile came upon the gruff wizard's face and dipping his head he pressed a single kiss against the slumbering boy's temple, whispering something Remus couldn't hear and then in a burst of black smoke he was gone. Sirius would have his head later, for not detaining him, but right now he didn't care. A crash to his left, loud and thunderous, had Remus looking over just in time to see a death eater apparate to safety. In fact all of them were retreating, Voldemort included, and suddenly the room was only occupied by breathless fighters for the Order.

"Well, that was a waste of time," growled Sirius irritably making his way toward Remus only to freeze at the sight of what his old friend was holding, "who's that?"

"I think he may be Fenrir's mate," Remus told him shifting the boy his eyes widening, "Heavily pregnant mate."

Sirius looked as if he had swallowed an entire bottle of fire whiskey, "come again? Greyback doesn't take mates, or breed children, that would require being able to feel!"

"Can we discuss this back at headquarters?" Remus retorted grumpily.

"Fine, fine, but if he is who you think he is, then I'm not happy about bringing him home, just saying."

"Duly noted," Remus sniffed before following his exasperated friend outside where Moody and Tonks waited looking ruffled but no worse for wear, "They ran it would seem."

"Except one," Moody grunted, "who's the lad you have there?"

"Fenrir's mate I think. He looks to be due any day now with a pup, we need to get him back to the house. Don't look at me like that Moody, I don't know why, but I can't help but feel he's an innocent in all of this."

"Alright," the wizard snapped out, "bring the runt with us if you must Remus, but mark me, if he turns out to be a spy for the Dark Lord, I'm blaming you."

Chuckling to himself, Remus didn't bother responding following the rest to the best spot to apparate home. The night air was cool outside of number twelve Grimmauld place, a nippy breeze dancing through the trees, making the leaves bend and sway. As expected Molly Weasley waited at the door, worrying a locket about her throat and when she caught sight of the unconscious youth in Remus' arms she let out a strangled sound. But it was an unfamiliar face, which was a relief.

"Who on earth is that?" Molly exclaimed following the wizards toward the kitchen.

"We believe, Fenrir's mate," Remus told the flustered witch.

"And you brought him here?" She hissed furiously, "have you quite lost your mind Remus Lupin!"

"Molly, the boy is hurt, and in serious need of rest. Also he is not a death eater."

"Just because he doesn't bare a mark, doesn't mean he's innocent of crimes Remus," Moody bit out limping toward the armchair by the fire.

Before Remus could respond, a groan and movement had him looking down. His charge was rousing and suddenly he was looking into a pair of eyes the perfect shade of honey. Spencer blinked away the last dregs of unconsciousness, his muscles aching somewhat. His body went completely rigid when he realised the one holding him was _NOT_ Fenrir and yet at the same time he smelt familiar, he smelt like the pack, which was probably why he didn't immediately freak out. The man carefully set him on his feet, and a startled sound had Spencer turning to find a red headed woman gaping at him.

Her eyes were locked on his swollen middle. Frowning he wrapped his arms about himself, eyeing her. Once a placid person, Spencer was never great when it came to defending himself, but where his pup was concerned he'd tear an arm off.

"What's your name?"

His hazel eyes switched to the man who had been holding him, rather than answer the question Spencer said, "You smell like the pack. Obviously Fenrir turned you."

"Yes, my name is Remus Lupin; this is Molly Weasley, Sirius Black and Alastor Moody."

"Spencer Reid," the young werewolf introduced without hesitation. There was no point in lying to them, he knew witches and wizards could take information if they so pleased, this way it was on his terms. "Where am I?"

"You're at the Order's headquarters," a scarred Moody growled out in a gravelly tone, "and you won't be leaving our sight runt, for obvious reasons."

"If you intend to kill me—"

"No one intends to kill you," Molly interjected shrilly and before Spencer could protest the fiery red head was guiding him from the kitchen and toward a set of stairs, "you my dear are going to have a nice lie down." Regardless of being aligned with Fenrir, Molly would not see the expecting werewolf worn out.

"Wait!" Spencer exclaimed pulling out of Molly's smothering grip and turning back toward Remus, "there was a girl. Her name was Vasilisa, she was Voldemort's captive. He was trying to force information out of her."

"Force, how?" Questioned Sirius, not really sure if he believed him.

"Voldemort had Bellatrix use the _cruciatus _curse on me in hopes of getting her to talk."

Next to him the plump kindly witch let out a string of curses that were rather surprising, but Spencer never remarked. Even Remus and his comrades were looking at him somewhat sympathetically now, not that it mattered to Spencer. He really didn't care what they wanted and he was itching to ask for Fenrir, but he figured that wouldn't have been wise.

"Care to tell us how you came to be in Fenrir's care?" Remus probed.

"No." Spencer responded automatically, his gaze daring them to force the issue. Thankfully none of them even tried. It would seem they had far more pressing matters to intend to.

"Right," Moody growled, "here's the plan. We collect Harry as planned, Molly, you bring the boy to _The Burrow_ with you now and we'll deal with the girl as soon as we have retrieved Potter."

"Thirty-two," Spencer said grimly earning a withering scowl from Moody.

"What?"

"My age, I'm thirty-two, so I can hardly be referred to as _boy_."

"Fine, then I'll just use runt," Moody snapped grumpily.

Spencer rolled his eyes, "yes, because my name just wouldn't do, would it?" He quipped sarcastically.

"The use of a name would put us on friendly terms_, ruuunt_, and considering your choice in companions—"

"I didn't choose anything!" Spencer barked well past the point of patience. "My choice was stolen from me the night Fenrir snatched me from outside my home and when I started turning into an oversized dog every God damn month I had _nowhere_ else to go!"

Stupid hormones! He was on the verge of crying, but he'd be damned if he would give the snarling bastard the satisfaction. Surprisingly Molly came to his rescue.

"That is enough Alastor; you should be ashamed, judging without knowing. Leave the boy alone or Merlin helps me; I will hex you into the last century, am I clear?"

Mollified, Moody grunted and nodded as a response and just like that everyone was on the move. Sirius, Moody and Remus bid them goodnight, promising them they would see them back at _the Burrow_ and gathered a cloak and an oversized carpet bag, Molly smiled at Spencer.

"Okay, follow me dear, we'll use the _floo_ network to get home."

So long within the wizarding community that statement didn't even faze Spencer, and obediently he followed the bubbly female climbing into the large grate. Reaching for the _floo_ powder, Molly gathered up a sizable amount and with a clear, "_The burrow!_" She dropped the glittery silver powder and with a whoosh the pair was engulfed by bright emerald flames. Heavily pregnant was not a comfortable condition to _floo_ in, but neither was aparation. It was the lesser of two evils.

Landing in the grate of the Weasley's kitchen, Spencer stepped out on wobbly legs. His stomach was twisting a little, but the werewolf managed to keep its contents down. Molly was already whizzing about lighting a fire, getting a kettle boiling, when a cat hissed at Spencer's feet, he merely stepped over the animal disinterested. Cats tended not to like werewolves, and he made dogs nervous.

"Would you like a spot of tea dear?" Molly asked kindly.

"No thank you Mrs Weasley," Spencer responded smiling tiredly, "actually, could I lie down somewhere?"

"Oh of course, silly me Spencer, you must be exhausted. Come on dear, follow me."

A bed sounded almost too good to be true, but when he was let into what Molly called '_Percy's old room'_, Spencer merely took time to say good night before dropping down onto the bed, clothes and all. To his surprise, Molly chuckled and proceeded to help him remove his battered trench coat and boots. After she tucked him in and left the room, closing the door behind her. Long over his fear of the dark, Spencer snuggled into the soft mattress and dropped off almost instantly.

* * *

§

* * *

Spencer came awake suddenly and with a barely contained yelp. Disorientated it took him a second to realise where he was, his heart slowing down. He could hear commotion downstairs and figured he had been asleep only a handful of hours. At first he wasn't sure what had woken him. The noise downstairs wasn't enough to rouse him, and in the little bedroom nothing had disturbed him and then the pain came, cutting through his middle so fast that Spencer sucked down a sharp breath and groaned.

His body trembled, the muscles about his swollen belly going rigidly tight and shifting his legs, the werewolf noticed he was lying in a large patch of wet. He was in labour. He was in an unknown house, with certain hostiles and he was in _labour!_

"You have poor timing kid," Spencer croaked stretching out when the contraction finally broke.

Climbing from bed he began pacing, rubbing his belly. Twenty minutes later another contraction took hold and with his waters gone and nothing cushioning the blow, his legs almost went from beneath him. He gripped the old worn desk that sat beneath the window sill. His face was contorted in agony, his knuckles turning white and yet he managed _not_ to cry out. He was in no mood to draw attention to him.

For hours it continued like that till the werewolf was sobbing, whimpering and mewling in pain. Having crawled back onto the bed, Spencer laid clammy, skin slick and panted from exertion. When the door opened sometime just after dawn, the young genius clambered back as far as he could, hazel eyes wide and heart beating roughly. Molly humming entered with a tray, her eyes immediately finding him.

"Good morning dear," she greeted warmly, "I brought you some brea—"

Spencer suddenly groaned, doubling over slightly while his fingers bit into the duvet beneath him. Molly froze and it took her a second to understand what was happening. _He was having his pup! _Dropping the tray down on Percy's old desk, the Witch scrambled toward the youth. Spencer flinched away from her and smiling gently Molly held up her hands showing she meant no harm.

"I'm not going to hurt you Spencer; I just want to help, please?"

His contractions were coming every two minutes and he knew delivering the infant himself would be a tiring task. After a moment he nodded his consent. With a wave of her wand Molly had changed the bed linens, divested Spencer of his damp jeans and boxers and had a warm blanket covering his lower half. Lifting the patterned quilt the bubbly witch probed gently and smiled up at him.

"Not quite ready yet Spencer, but almost."

Panting Spencer arched when another mind-numbing pain cut through him. Rubbing his knee soothingly, Molly promised to be back and left the room hurriedly. Downstairs the kitchen was anarchy. Fred and George sat making jokes over George's recently lost ear, while the others toasted with mugs of tea the loss of Alastor Moody who had died only hours before during Harry's retrieval.

Rushing toward the sink, Molly paid them no heed as she began gathering rags and filling a basin with ice cold water.

"Everything okay Molly dear?" Arthur probed gently breakfast forgotten. A frown had knitted his brow and he worried if their wolfy guest had caused any harm. "Did that mongrel do something?"

The group had been caught up on Spencer's presence and condition, and they were divided on opinions, mainly men against women, except for Remus.

"Do not call 'im a mongrel Arthur," Fleur snapped irritably from beside Bill, "Poor boy."

"That poor boy is an hour at most off of birthing his child," Molly informed them gathering her supplies, ignoring all disgruntled suggestions that she stay away, "eh, Hermione could you help me?"

Nodding Hermione followed the witch back upstairs. She wasn't sure what to expect. Fenrir and Remus were her only sources for werewolves and they were complete polar opposites. Would this one be pretty much like Fenrir considering he was with him on a constant basis? But when she stepped into Percy's old room he was nothing like Fenrir or Remus. He was fragile, very young still and looked so utterly terrified with his arms wrapped about his swollen middle.

"W-Who is she?" Croaked the exhausted genius, honey eyes taking in Hermione.

"This is Hermione Granger, she's a good friend of my son's and she won't hurt you or your pup, I give you my oath Spencer."

For a few moments more Spencer studied Hermione with a scrutiny that was almost unnerving. As if he was searching for something. When he finally seemed satisfied, the man settled back against his pillows momentarily closing his eyes. His skin was slick, sable curls clinging to an almost aristocratic face and when his features changed, twisting with an agonised look, a just barely restrained groan seeping free, Hermione stepped forward and took his hand.

Spencer's head snapped up and he was clearly startled. His lovely eyes were foggy with his obvious pain and the teenage witch decided distraction was the best.

"What's your name?"

"What, I, eh, it's Spencer...Spencer Reid."

"Tell me about yourself Spencer."

"What?" Spencer frowned whimpering when another contraction twisted at his innards. "Um, I-I'm thirty-two, I was born i-in Las Vegas. M-My mother is Diana Reid and my father William Reid. I-I was a supervisory special agent for the FBI, b-before Fenrir took me."

_FBI!_ Molly didn't understand that term, but Hermione sure did. Of all the people for Fenrir to take! For another hour it continued like that, with Molly checking his progress and Hermione distracting him the best she could while using cold cloths to cool his overheated skin. On the next contraction Spencer couldn't hold back the strangled cry. Hermione grappled for his hand and he clung to hers desperately almost sobbing, his whole body quivering. With the pain came a whole new sensation.

"M-Mrs Weasley, I need to push!"

"Then you push dearie, that's it, oh you're doing so well Spencer!"

It felt as if he was being split in two. The ache had increased to the point Spencer wept his way through the final stages and bit by bit he felt his child leave his body until he was left empty and a healthy wail filled his ears.

"A girl," Molly exclaimed joyously tears stinging the backs of her eyes, "Oh Spencer, she's perfect."

Drained, panting from exertion, Spencer watched as Molly wiped the infant down and suddenly the child was in his arms. The wriggling bundle was so small, with wisps of sable curls coiling about a pretty face. Her eyes were open and the blue was identical to Fenrir's. Spencer wondered wistfully if they would stay that shade.

"Hey," Spencer smiled through his tears, "hey baby girl...my little Morgan."

* * *

§

* * *

It was amazing. For such a logical person, Spencer had no idea how he was keeping calm through such an illogical situation. Of course logic had been flung out the window the second he began sharing a bed with a werewolf and his current situation was just another addition to a long list of _what the hell's?_ He, Dr Spencer Reid, was breast-feeding. Morgan was latched onto his swollen chest and guzzling hungrily one tiny hand gripping a thick strand of his hair, her cerulean blue hues never once leaving his face. She was so small, smaller then JJ's Henry had been, but for werewolf pups that was normal supposedly. As his daughter fed Spencer mentally rifled through the facts he had on werewolves.

They had a much longer lifespan then humans, they were sturdier harder to injure and their birth-mortality rate was quite high. Only some males could carry. Fenrir couldn't, but Spencer could, a fact made known when he first went into heat. Childbearing werewolves had a Heat cycle of once a year and were usually fertile enough to get pregnant straight out. Survival of an infant was higher in females then it was males, pups only surviving to male's possibly one out of every ten pregnancies. This was in fact Spencer's second pregnancy; they had lost their firstborn around his sixth month. A boy, who was buried near their cabin in the forest of dean, they had named him Caleb.

It was another reason Fenrir had kept such a close eye on his mate and now he may never get to see his healthy baby girl considering the chances of Fenrir still being alive were slim to none and he was reluctant to question the wizards of The Burrow to find out.

Fenrir had told him exactly what to expect, how his body would change, even his hips were slightly on the curvier side now. It was so strange and confusing, but Spencer as always quickly adapted and learnt to accept what was.

Morgan moved away from her father breathing hard and hiccupping slightly. Smiling Spencer fixed his shirt and shifted his daughter, running a hand over her tiny back just like he had seen JJ do, with a slight pat thrown in. Morgan wriggled, looking about even if all she could see were blurred shapes and eventually she let out a great belch. Chuckling Spencer settled the tiny bundle into the bassinette Molly had left him and in no time at all the infant newborn was sound asleep.

Getting to his feet the werewolf winced. It had only been three days and his body was still healing from the birth. He rarely left the room he had been supplied accept to bathe. He was fully aware he wasn't exactly welcome. Thanks to a charm Molly had placed Spencer would hear his daughter anywhere in the house and so, craving company the werewolf made his way downstairs. He expected the usual Molly, Hermione, possibly the sweet red head Ginny, but instead the entire family appeared to be there all in the process of devouring breakfast. A floorboard creaked beneath him and just like that several sets of eyes found him.

"Spencer, dear," Molly gushed rushing toward him and taking his arm, "come on, sit, sit, is Morgan sleeping?"

"Eh, yeah, she just went down." With Molly's cheerful warmth Spencer could easily ignore the hateful glances thrown in his direction and took a seat next to Hermione who looked pleased as ever to see him. This however put him directly across from Sirius, who was _NOT_ happy to see him.

"You're looking well," the wizard commented every word dripping with hostility.

Well? Ha! He was a disaster. He was clean, but he was in a long sleeved t-shirt with buttons along the chest, grey and much too big for him. The jeans were old black ones, ratted to hell and back again and were much, _much_ too big. He wore ragged converse, his own and his lengthy hair was tied back in a thick tail, the odd chestnut curl framing his face. He looked thrown together, but he didn't bother saying this as he poured himself some coffee.

"I'll take that as a compliment."

Sirius laughed bitterly shaking his head. Tension had mounted and no amount of warning glances from Molly or Remus were going to silence him, "You really think that innocent act is going to work?"

"What innocent act?" Spencer questioned disinterestedly while buttering a piece of toast.

"I can see it in your eyes pup, the eyes tell quite the story," Sirius began evenly, "and you're eyes are telling me you've seen war before."

Spencer stiffened and he set down his toast hazel eyes steely, "what is it you want me to say Sirius?"

"I want to know how involved you are with Voldemort."

There it was, and just like that the tension was thick enough to take a carving knife to. The rest of the household waited with bated breath. Arthur shook his head when his wife opened her mouth to protest and Spencer let out a short laugh shaking his head, "I will say this once and only once Sirius because the truth is, I don't care what you believe or not. I am not aligned with Voldemort, I'd take a knife to my own throat before I ever wilfully did that, but yes I am Fenrir's mate, not something that was my choice I might add. When he turned me I stayed for fear of hurting someone. It was the lesser of two evils and somewhere along the line I grew to love him."

"Fenrir is a ruthless killer."

"Maybe so, but he has never hurt me, not once. I...I feel safe with him."

Sirius let out a bark of laughter, "A man rapes you and you feel _safe_ with him?"

Every muscle in Spencer's body went suddenly rigid and he practically hissed the next four words, "He _never_ raped me!"

"Well excuse me, but I find that very hard to believe."

"I don't really care what you believe Sirius," Spencer snapped, "Fenrir never raped me. When I went to bed with him it was willing and after that it is no concern of yours—"

"His mongrel bitch is just upstairs!" Sirius snarled angrily, "better if the mutt was put out of her misery!"

The silence that followed was in a way almost deafening, yes they were wary of Spencer and his child, but that was a bit below the belt. Spencer's eyes flashed, morphing into the colour of pure moonlight and though he could not change without a full moon, he was still dangerous. Standing slowly, the young werewolf just barely had himself under control and Remus watched him. He would intercede in a heartbeat if necessary.

"Let me make this quite clear Sirius Black," Spencer began evenly, "you so much as _look_ at my daughter wrong and I will eviscerate you. Am I clear?"

"We owe you no refuge," Sirius snapped. He refused to admit the pups anger had shook him somewhat.

"I'm not asking for refuge off of _you_. Mrs Weasley gave me the safety of her home and I don't intend to insult her after she has shown me a great kindness." Spencer dropped down into his chair eyes narrowed. "I don't owe you explanations, or my loyalty. All you need to know is I am no threat to any of you. Once I'm strong enough Morgan and I will be gone. Is that enough for you Sirius? Will you leave me alone?"

With a grunt his only answer, the surly wizard left the table tea cup in hand and ventured outside for a bit of morning air. The squabble of chickens filled the room for a moment before the door shut and after an awkward beat the group returned to previous activities, pretending the argument had never occurred. Lost in thought, Spencer thought back to that first night in the cabin when he had woken naked beside an equally as naked Fenrir, but the werewolf had never touched him. He never touched him like that until five months later when Spencer allowed him the contact. He knew he didn't need to prove that point to Sirius; it just pissed him off how callously he could throw a suggestion of rape into another man's face.

"You're FBI?"

Spencer looked up startled, his hazel eyes slid toward Hermione briefly and she was flushing with guilt, but he didn't mind. It was the first time the boy Harry had ever spoken directly to him and there was no malice in those green irises, just, curiosity, "_Was_ FBI."

"What is the FBI?" Arthur asked despite not trusting Spencer. He just couldn't help it, not when it came to all things muggle.

"Think of it as the muggle equivalent of an Auror," Harry explained.

Now that got everyone's attention and Spencer flushed under the scrutiny.

"What branch were you?" Harry asked.

"BAU, eh, behavioural Analysis unit," Spencer said nervously taking a bite from his toast, "I was the youngest in history to be accepted to the FBI, let alone the BAU."

Harry had once dreamt about running away from his Aunt and Uncle, high tailing it to America and joining the FBI. He had read all there was to know about it and so knew exactly what the BAU was. "No offence, but you don't strike me as the type of guy who would be chasing down serial killers."

"And you don't strike me as the type that'll eventually be Voldemort's downfall. First Impressions can be very misleading. But I do understand yours. I was recruited more for my intellect rather than my brawn." Spencer smiled. "Although I doubt many Unsub's would stand a chance against me these days strength wise."

"You're intellect?" Hermione asked very interested. It was rare to find anyone who could match her in intelligence.

"Yes, I have an IQ of one-eighty-seven an eidetic memory and I can read twenty thousand words per minute."

"Sweet Merlin, so you're a genius?" Ron gaped in awe.

"I have been called that, yes."

"Have you ever been shot?" The woman who preferred to be called Tonks asked.

Ah, so she knew about guns, "Yes, twice, neither lethal, just inconvenient."

The conversation continued that way for a while until the distinct bawl of a very peeved Morgan filled the room. Smiling Spencer excused himself and headed upstairs to tend to his wailing daughter.

* * *

§

* * *

Vasilisa fell to her knees and coughed violently. As the bastards had figured out, their spells didn't work on her, so they were reduced to using more barbaric forms of torture, such as beating her senseless. The recent blow to her stomach was enough to have the girl heaving. Violently she vomited and when a hand fisted in her hair dragging her upright all she could muster was a pathetic whimper. Oh, it was Bellatrix this time.

"The Dark Lord is losing his patience girly. You never said the truth serum would not work on your kind, nor did you mention reading your mind is impossible."

"Did I not mention that? Ooops, my bad," Vasilisa responded sarcastically hissing when Bellatrix pulled her head back rather violently, "I'm surprised Voldy hasn't sent you looking for that mutt and his pregnant bitch. Never thought I'd see the day Fenrir Greyback went domestic."

The floor came rushing up before Vasilisa even knew Bellatrix had tossed her. Hands bound, saving herself was not going to happen and every soft inch of her meant cold stone with a God awful thud. But at least her heated words had achieved what she had intended. She wanted Bellatrix angry as all hell because what the stupid woman didn't realise was Vasilisa was drinking it in as if it were liquid warmth.

Vasilisa was Fae. Fairy, Faerie, Fey, whatever term one preferred, either way, she wasn't a Witch, nor was she human. Fae of course was a single word for several species. Goblins, Elves, pixies etc were all Fae, but Vasilisa was a type of Fae that was almost extinct. In correct terms she was technically a fairy, the winged type. Most expected them to be no bigger than your thumb, but this was a factual mistake—Thanks to several irritating authors and their bloody fantasy novels—Fairies were human in size, but with very nonhuman appearances. Hidden by glamour, Voldemort was unaware of what Vasilisa truly looked like and she intended to keep it that way as for what he was looking for? Voldemort wanted Midir and Mikhael, Vasilisa's brothers, twins, and the last known magic users of their kind. Not all fairies were born with magic, it was rare and it was ten times more powerful than any magic a Wizard can produce.

Vasilisa herself possessed only one gift, empathy; she could feel the emotions of others and project emotion where she saw fit and in the case of emotions such as rage she could in a way create a sort of psychic blast. Too bad Voldemort knew that.

"Calm yourself Bellatrix," Voldemort said gently gliding into the room with Nagini at his feet, "do not give our guest ammunition to harm you."

Just like that she was cut off. The fury was gone and with it so was the power. Feebly Vasilisa kicked her legs and looked up when the dark Wizard stopped right above her waggling a finger at her while shaking his head in admonishment.

"You never learn do you Vasilisa?"

"Can't blame a girl for trying," retorted the youth hissing when Voldemort suddenly backhanded her. "Did your mama ever tell you, you hit like a girl?"

Voldemort merely laughed at her gumption, "I know what you are trying to do Vasilisa. Plan A of sucking up Bellatrix's rage accomplished nothing, so Plan B would be to get you killed. Dead, you cannot reveal your brothers location. But I will break you eventually; make no mistake on that...Bellatrix bring the girl to my chamber."

Well that didn't bode well. She had a cushy little cell all to her lonesome, if Voldemort wanted her brought to his room it wasn't to play cards that was for sure.

* * *

§

* * *

"Ooo look at 'er, she is just de cutest wee t'ing!" Fleur gushed eyes alight, "May I 'old 'er Spencer?"

Nodding with a warm smile Spencer settled Morgan's tiny weight into the half Veela's outstretched arms. Morgan cooed chubby fingers immediately finding thick strands of silvery blonde hair, cerulean blues taking in all the lavishing attention she was receiving. Even Harry, Ron and his brothers couldn't deny how beautiful the baby was. She was the image of Spencer, but her eyes were indeed Fenrir's.

From a corner of the living-room Sirius grumbled to himself reading through the daily prophet. He wasn't about to partake in the googly eyed bullshit. The child was Fenrir's and that was enough reason to cast her out along with Fenrir's mate.

"Shun her and her father and you're a hypocrite."

Sirius gaze snapped toward Remus, "Excuse me?"

Remus met his hostile look head on, "by condemning them Sirius you are a hypocrite or wasn't it you who shed the bonds of family and proved that you can be more then what your family wished of you?"

"That's different Remus."

"How is it different Sirius? In my eyes it's exactly the same."

Well damn the old mongrel, Sirius had nothing to retort to that and as he had learnt a long time ago with Remus, if your argument was flawed keep your trap shut. After a few minutes of silence Remus realised he had made his point and with a grin he moved to join his wife who was currently cooing over the infant.

"You'll be happy to know I'm fit to travel in a few more days," Spencer commented stopping by Sirius armchair, "So we can remain civil till—"

"How do you do it?"

Spencer blinked confused, "excuse me?"

"How do you quite literally fall into this world, and accept it all. Muggle men cannot have babies and yet here you are blissfully happy with a child you carried to term yourself." Sirius tossed down his newspaper. "I, I just don't understand how you can just take it all in stride the way you are."

Spencer's face had several emotions flittered across it before he finally sat on the couch, "I'm used to change Sirius. My father walked out on my mother and myself when I was ten, I spent eight awful years holding together a home with a mother who was mentally ill and I managed to still go to school and college despite that." Spencer shrugged. "Change is inevitable, some good, some bad. Nothing ever stayed the same in my life and I don't know, I guess because of that I accepted this easier. A baby was easier to handle the second time round of course."

Sirius looked over surprised, "Second time?"

"Eh, yeah, we buried a son, Caleb."

"I'm sorry." And he genuinely was. "Maybe I've misunderstood you."

Spencer laughed, "Sirius I guarantee if you gave me even half a chance, you'd come to like me in time."

Still laughing Spencer got to his feet and went to retrieve Morgan from her throng of adoring fans. He never saw the sweet smile that stole over Sirius' lips.

* * *

§

* * *

Spencer couldn't help it. He was beyond fascinated. When he heard Molly asking the Weasley boys to de-gnome the garden, this was not what he had expected. Harry, Ron, Bill, Fred, George and Charlie were racing back and forth over the overgrown greenery snatching up what looked more like little grumpy old men as opposed to gnomes. They spun them violently and when the tiny creatures were dizzy enough Spencer watched as they were hurled over the wall. It was a bizarre sight, but funny and at Molly's insistence, he was band from helping. Hearing Ron let out his umpteenth vulgarity of the day Spencer snorted. A gnome had bitten him—again!

"Having fun?"

Startled Spencer jumped and twisted so he was looking up at Sirius black. The man tilted his head and half smiled down at Spencer. It had been a week and a half since Morgan's birth and Sirius had finally accepted their presence. Well, to a degree. He stiffened if Spencer got to close and when Morgan cried, or made any form of noise he scowled at the infant when he thought no one was looking. But he was trying and for that alone, Spencer had no issues with the man.

"I've never seen such a fun filled gardening event," Spencer admitted warmly, "For muggles gnomes are little coloured statues that don't move."

"Ah yes, Lily told me about those once."

"Lily?"

"Lily Potter, Harry's mother," Sirius explained taking a seat beside the scrawny male, "she was killed by Voldemort when Harry was one, along with his father James. They were both very good friends of mine."

"I know the story. I made it a point to read whatever books of your world I could get my hands on. I wanted to know everything." Spencer scowled. "I could find very little on Voldemort, though I'd say Fenrir more prevented me from finding anything."

"He wouldn't want you to know exactly how bad Voldemort was for fear you would run." Sirius told him not unkindly. "Why didn't you run?"

Spencer let out a breath and reached down scratching at the small patch of scarred flesh on his wrist, "I tried to. Before he forced lycanthropy on me, I tried to run _twice_. But Fenrir found me both times. He never hurt me. He just brought me back and once he turned me, I just accepted it." He closed his eyes and swallowed. "He used to come home smelling of blood. He never told me what he had done, but I always knew. I just, I _chose_ to ignore it." Tears welled so suddenly and Spencer's breath hitched. "I love him. It's so stupid and I can't explain it, but I do."

"I can't begin to understand Spencer," said Sirius gently, "but you have to understand the dangerous creature Fenrir is. You must know that going back to him, would be completely pointless. Fenrir Greyback has killed hundreds and that will never change."

"I know and I think that's why it hurts. I know I can't go back to him. I know Morgan will be safer without him, as will I."

For a time they didn't speak. They sat quietly watching the boys toss gnomes, some of which Spencer was sure were sluggishly making their way back to the garden. A thought suddenly dawned on the genius, "how do you intend to disguise Harry at the wedding tomorrow?"

"_Polyjuice_ potion," Sirius answered matter-of-factly. He didn't bother explaining the workings, but as it turned out, he didn't need to.

"A complicated enough potion, obviously you've had this planned a while considering it takes a month to brew that concoction." It wasn't a question so Sirius didn't answer. "What about Morgan and me? We can just stay in the house out of the way I suppose."

"That isn't necessary. No one knows who you are; we can just introduce you as a cousin and simply not let on that you birthed Morgan yourself. They'd straight up know you were a werewolf," Sirius explained, "Remus will be getting enough dirty looks without them starting on you."

"Remus is a good man. It's a pity people treat him poorly."

"You seem very trusting of him."

"Can't really help it," Spencer said with a timorous grin, "I recognise him as my pack mate. It's a bizarre connection, one I can't really explain."

Sirius frowned, "would this go both ways?"

"Pretty much," Spencer said, "I know where you're going with this and no. Remus wouldn't feel like that where Fenrir is concerned. He's not a pup like me; he's had years to block links at will. He can cut his pack off if he chooses." Spencer winced. "It's another reason that walking away isn't all that easy. With the link it's hard _not_ to be compliant; of course I can wiggle my way around it more so then most pups."

"How so," Sirius asked in spite of himself. Remus was _never_ forthcoming with this sort of thing and talking to a werewolf directly was a different experience then merely gaining information from books.

"A pup I may be, but I am an Alpha simply by being Fenrir's mate," Spencer told him shredding a blade of grass between his fingers, "It's not like mind control of course, before you start thinking that. It's more like a subliminal message you don't even realise you're getting."

"Wait, would this make it easy for your Alpha to find you?" Spencer nodded warily. "Shit! You didn't think to tell us that?!"

"Considering there is a high chance Fen is dead, I don't see it as an issue."

Sirius sneered darkly, no longer playing niceties with the mutt, "Like you can't tell!"

"As it stands, I can't. We're too far from one another, several hundred miles in fact." Rolling his hazel hues Spencer stood smoothly. "I'll be gone soon, so I suggest you not let it bother you."

"And where do you intend to go?"

"Home," was Spencer's only response before he ventured back inside.

For some reason Sirius almost felt sad at that, which was stupid! He should've been delighted to see the back of him and yet in a matter of hours the endearing young man and his infant daughter had grown on him. Not that Sirius would _ever_ admit that out loud. Damn it, he was getting soft as the years went on. Watching his Godson and friends a moment more, the Wizard started for the house. He was hungry and by the aromas wafting from the rickety old homestead Molly had started supper.

* * *

§

* * *

The pain was mind numbing making coherent thought a task not worth attempting. Strewn over the bed, skin fevered and covered in blood—her own—Vasilisa tried her damndest to muster enough strength. She wanted a scalding hot bath, but the bathroom might as well have been a thousand miles away. A toilet sounded heavenly too, but the idea of so much as moving a hair had her whimpering. The door opened and shut making the teenager go positively rigid. Her solitude was no longer and by all the Gods she doubted she could survive anymore abuse which wasn't necessarily a bad thing. That way Voldemort could no longer attempt to use her to find her brothers. Brothers she'd most likely not recognise if she ever saw them anyway or vice versa. Not with their glamour anyway, or possibly even without. It had been twelve years after all.

"Miss, would you like the bath?"

In spite of her agony Vasilisa twisted her head the best she could and instead of Voldemort, Bellatrix, or any of the other mongrels he kept around, it was a teenage boy. Seventeen give or take a day, with a scrawny build, white blond hair and gunmetal grey eyes that were in one word..._cold_, but with an underlining warmth and fear. There was most definitely fear there.

"W-Who are y-you?" Vasilisa croaked blue eyes narrowed into slits. "You look like t-that Lucius Malfoy."

"He's my father," the boy responded with a shrug, "my name is Draco. Now do you want a bath or not?" The sudden temper was a defence mechanism Vasilisa realised and the sharp sting of it warmed her blood a little. He could be an easy one to manipulate.

"Yes, but I can't exactly move by myself."

"I'll help you." Draco said before heading for the ensuite that was joined to Voldemort's chambers. Vasilisa a moment later heard water running and she was seriously looking forward to being clean. It wasn't long before the boy returned and wordlessly he lifted Vasilisa's tiny frame. "Sorry." He apologised when it made her hiss out loud.

She weighed next to nothing Draco found, and her skin was rather slippery. Blood, she was covered in it and swallowing past sudden nausea, Draco decided he was _not_ going to ask. If the Dark Lord had done this, then she had done something to antagonise him and deserved no sympathy. Now he wondered how long he'd have to keep telling himself that before he actually believed it. Carefully he settled the girl into the tub. The hot water drew a mixed groan of pain and relief and settling in for a long soak Vasilisa looked up at the awkward teen.

"My name is Vasilisa, but you can call me Lisa if you want."

"I don't worry you do I?" Draco asked with a slight frown.

"I'm an empath," Vasilisa explained tiredly, "I can feel fear and frustration off of you, but no malice. You don't want to hurt me."

"I'm a death eater."

"And I'm a Fae Princess who doesn't look much like a Fae Princess right about now, your point? Just because you are presented a certain title doesn't mean_ that's_ who you are."

Draco sighed shaking his head, "why not tell the Dark Lord what he wants to know?"

"He wants my brothers," Vasilisa said reaching for a sponge, "I'll die first. Of course, I couldn't give them up even if I wanted to."

"How so," Draco questioned, curious in spite of himself.

"Because, whether big bad Voldemort believes it or not, I honestly don't know where they are."

"And you've no way of finding them?"

Vasilisa stiffened. This was sounding way too much like an interrogation, "That won't be something I'll be telling you death eater." Her tone was arctic and drew a flash of fear from the scrawny teen, but Vasilisa didn't care.

Draco scowled, cheeks flushing. Honestly? He hadn't been fishing for information at all, but he could understand her wariness which was possibly the only reason why he didn't lose his cool and use a few choice words, which was even more ridiculous! Why did he care about the feelings of some Fae creature? He should've been using every trick he could think of to help Voldemort garner the information he wanted from her! Instead he was worried about upsetting her!

"You don't know me enough to judge me," Draco said eventually, "Only a second ago you said titles don't mean anything!"

"I've been held hostage for almost two years. I've been beaten and as of last night raped, so excuse me if I don't trust you outright." Vasilisa whispered frigidly. "But tell you what, stop asking things you don't need to know and I_ can_ play nice. Okay?"

"Seems fair," Draco answered before starting for the door, "anyway get cleaned up, I'll be back with food."

Vasilisa watched him go and wondered if maybe she had made herself an ally.

* * *

§

* * *

Music filled the air, laughter mingling with the bright crescendo and all around people danced and enjoyed the warmth of the evening. Bill and Fleur spun about the dance floor, while spinning off to dance with other partners making a sort of group jig of it. Ginny and Harry—well the red headed cousin he was posing as—had joined in at some point and Molly spun about with a cooing Morgan in her arms—Spencer and Morgan were distant relations if anyone asked.

And then, it all went to hell, so swiftly and violently it was a shock. Spencer watched Harry, Hermione and Ron disappear in a flurry of smoke and heart in his throat he dashed through the chaos to get to Molly and his daughter.

"Spencer!" Sirius exclaimed chasing after him.

Spells flew, people screamed and Spencer hit the ground with a yelp when a wayward cantation cut through his thigh. Blood spilled, but the werewolf ignored it and scrambling upright, he ran the rest of the way on a limp to his screaming daughter. Molly handed her over and whipped out her wand blasting curses and hexes by the second, her fiery red hair framing a face that was pure fury.

"Sirius, get Spencer and Morgan out of here," Molly bellowed turning to blast a death eater off his feet.

Sirius would've argued any other time, but this time he didn't because some of these death eaters were looking for Spencer! Nowhere was safe, or was it? Reaching across the debris Sirius snatched up a broken plate and produced his wand. "_Portus_," the Wizard intoned seconds before he grabbed Spencer and Morgan and suddenly they were gone, leaving the anarchy behind.

Feet touching pavement, silence filling his ears, and a two pm sun blinding him Spencer landed on his ass shaking violently and clutched his bawling daughter to his chest, rocking her and whispering words to soothe her. His hazel eyes fell on Sirius, "Where did you bring us?"

"Don't you recognise it?"

Frowning Spencer looked around him and sure enough he _did_ recognise it. It was his street! He was home, he was in Quantico! Light spilled all around them and by a miracle it was pretty vacant. No one saw their little magical entrance thank God!

"How did you even know to go here?"

"I overheard you mentioning it to Molly."

"Ah."

Standing, Spencer landed straight back on his backside with a grunt. Pain flared in his thigh and before he knew it Sirius was crouched beside him probing the nasty cut. Pulling out his wand the Wizard began whispering spells and Spencer sighed audibly when the pain began to fade. "I can't heal this fully." Sirius said. "But I can stop the worst of the bleeding. Is there anywhere we can go? We need to get out of here before a muggle sees us."

Racking his brain, Spencer rifled through his friends picking out the less likely one to freak, "Garcia. Penelope Garcia. She's the closest and the only one who won't have a complete meltdown with this." Spencer smiled fondly, "Garcia's rather open-minded."

"Alright, give me the address, I'll apparate us there."

Nodding, Spencer rattled off the address taking Sirius' hand when it was offered. Sirius pulled him easily to his feet and without warning they were engulfed by the strangling sensation that was aparation. Spencer closed his eyes and waited for it to be over and luckily enough the squashed feeling was quick to diminish and Spencer found himself looking up at Garcia's apartment complex. A simple cloaking spell prevented notice and starting toward the building Spencer hoped Garcia was in. It was Saturday, but if there was a case, the bubbly tech analyst would not be home. Of course, they'd be staying at her apartment one way or another.

Morgan snuffled, pulling on a strand of her father's hair. She was exhausted. Technically it was her bedtime. Spencer just hoped the time difference didn't mess up her sleeping pattern. The child was beginning to fuss and Spencer realised she had to be hungry, "Easy baby girl," Spencer crooned, "We'll get you sorted in just a moment. I just realised I've nothing for her."

"I can sort that out easy enough," Sirius said following Spencer up yet another flight of stairs.

"How, you have Wizard currency and nothing else."

"Ye of little faith," Sirius chided exasperatedly, "I'll think of something. At least you can still feed her."

"Won't that be fun to explain to Garcia," Spencer said with an amused grin.

One more flight and they emerged on a long landing with doors lined up either side. Coming to the fifth door on the left, Spencer moved Morgan to one arm, tucking her blanket tighter about her tiny body and hit the buzzer. Almost immediately there were sounds, which sounded somewhat disgruntled if his werewolf hearing was anything to go by, and a second later the door was yanked open revealing a sleep tousled and extremely peeved Penelope Garcia. Her angry expression melted giving away to shock, her jaw dropping. For a second all Garcia could do was gape, but eventually she found her voice.

"R-Reid," The blonde woman spluttered, "Oh my baby genius, is it really you?"

"Yeah Garcia," Spencer smiled, "it's me."

"Not to be rude," Sirius said butting in, "but may we come in? Spencer is injured and I won't be happy until I've seen to the wound."

Completely befuddled and maybe just a tad bit bedazzled by the handsome Wizard, Garcia let them in and ushered them toward her living-room. After locking her door she was quick to follow them and hearing the smallest of cries it was only then Garcia noticed the third member of the haggard group, "Reid, do my own eyes deceive me or is that a baby?"

Spencer nodded turning to let Garcia get a better look at her, "this is Morgan...My Daughter."


End file.
